


Cloud

by cuubism



Series: sky colors [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Dancing, Domestic Bliss, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insecurity, M/M, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Self-Esteem Issues, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25580914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuubism/pseuds/cuubism
Summary: He turns the music off again, and quiet floods back into the loft. It makes his skin start prickling.“Why?” Alec asks.“It’s too quiet,” Magnus says. “And it’s loud in my head.”quiet, noise, and learning to understand each other
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: sky colors [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848601
Comments: 25
Kudos: 219





	Cloud

**Author's Note:**

> I've listened to [You + I by Young the Giant](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMfIq10yfWY) approximately 50 times while writing this so... that's the theme song for this fic I guess

One of the benefits of having magic is not being constrained by the boundaries of Mundane technology. Magnus had learned early on that even the loudest Mundane home speaker system didn’t go loud enough to make his ears literally bleed, which is what he wants—he can just magically heal any actual damage afterwards anyway.

He doesn’t want to ‘listen’ to music. He wants it to break his ribcage open.

So he buys the best speakers he can find and then charms them to play way past the end of the dial, at a volume that he’s pretty sure might actually be _illegal_ , or a component of some arcane ritual or another. With wards, he doesn’t have to worry about bothering the neighbors, so he puts on a track and blasts it, letting it pound into his chest, and is several minutes into the blistering, blissful noise when he realizes Alec is standing in front of him, eyes wide, hands clamped over his ears.

With a little jolt of guilt, Magnus realizes he’d been so caught up in his project he’d forgotten Alec was in the other room.

Alec is yelling something at him, not that Magnus can hear him. He turns off the music.

“—GOD’S NAME ARE you doing?” Alec’s volume drops halfway through as he realizes he no longer has to scream. He looks from Magnus to the speaker system and back, seeming kind of shellshocked. “Was that _death metal?_ Do you like that?”

Magnus shrugs. It’s kind of beside the point. “It’s loud.”

Alec huffs. “Yeah. You’re going to make yourself go deaf.”

Magnus snaps his fingers and a little flame appears. _I can fix that._

“Do you think you can— not?” Alec seems hesitant to intrude on any of Magnus’s rituals, even though he has every right to ask Magnus not to blast music at 130 decibels in the living room.

Magnus lays a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, darling.” He waves his hands, and a new ward appears around his portion of the room. He turns the music back on, gratified when Alec doesn’t raise his hands to cover his ears. “Better?”

“Much, thanks,” Alec says, or at least that’s what Magnus reads on his lips. He reaches through the ward to tap Magnus on the arm, which Magnus takes to mean he wants to say something. He turns the music off again, and quiet floods back into the loft. It makes his skin start prickling.

“Why?” Alec asks.

“It’s too quiet,” Magnus says. “And it’s loud in my head.”

People don’t usually understand what he means when he says that, but Alec just nods.

“Alright, well, I hope this helps. Please try not to give yourself irreversible hearing loss.” And he kisses Magnus on the forehead before disappearing back to the apothecary where he’d been working.

Magnus touches the place where Alec’s lips had landed with a faint smile, before turning the speakers back on and going back to his jam session. Everything whites out in a haze of blissful noise, and he revels in being allowed it.

*

Sometimes Magnus’s brain is going so fast he wants to hurl anyone who steps into his space across the room. Watching them _splat_ against the wall might actually be shocking enough to get him to think clearly for a moment.

Today’s not one of those days.

Today he needs a distraction. Something, _anything_ to focus on.

So he ducks his head into the bedroom, where Alec’s sitting cross-legged in bed and typing on his laptop.

Alec notices him and looks up before Magnus can speak. Feeling uncharacteristically nervous, Magnus asks, “Are you terribly busy?”

And the thing is, he has to watch Alec carefully when he answers this. Because Alec gets like that, too, sometimes—where he doesn’t want anyone around him—but unlike Magnus, who will gladly tell off anyone who annoys him, _especially_ when he’s in a mood, Alec will usually just let the people he cares about crowd in anyway.

And Magnus doesn’t want to become another person who treads all over Alec’s boundaries.

But he seems open enough as he closes the laptop. “No, what’s up?”

“I need a distraction,” Magnus admits, creeping closer to the bed like Alec might change his mind if he moves too quickly. “And you’re my favorite distraction.”

That makes Alec smile, a small private smile only for Magnus. “I have an idea.”

Magnus follows him out to the living room, where Alec makes a beeline for his speaker system. Magnus opens his mouth to stop him, but Alec raises a hand. _Just wait._

He turns the speaker on to a low volume, flipping through a couple of songs until he finds one he likes—a slow blues track Magnus vaguely recognizes. Magnus has no idea what he’s doing until Alec turns back to him with a hand outstretched.

“You like dancing, right?”

And Magnus feels a slow grin spread across his face. “Oh, _darling_ , I didn’t know you _danced_.”

Alec raises his hands in self-defense. “Oh, I don’t, don’t expect anything.”

But Magnus expects the world, because everything Alec gives him is the world to him.

He takes one of Alec’s hands and tugs him forward. “Come. I’ll show you.”

The way Alec dances—or tries to—shows his inexperience, but he has more natural talent for it than he thinks. A product of all that Shadowhunter training, Magnus can only assume.

Magnus has fun with it at first, encouraging Alec to spin him, clumsily to start and then gradually with more skill, teasing him with some fancier moves that make him laugh, dipping him once in a move that startles a gasp out of him and nearly ends up with them both on the floor as Magnus suddenly realizes that his boyfriend is, in fact, _quite_ heavy.

But he soon finds himself encircled in Alec’s arms, moving more slowly, head tucked under Alec’s chin as they sway. Alec’s chest is warm and steady, and Magnus needs that steadiness. He feels blessedly quiet, all attention diverted to the press of Alec’s fingertips in his hair and on his back, the rise and fall of his lungs. He doesn’t even think there’s still music playing, it’s just Alec’s breathing.

“Thank you,” he says into Alec’s shirt, “for the distraction.”

“Thanks for letting me be the distraction.”

Magnus huffs out a laugh at the ridiculousness of his own words. “Oh, darling. You’re not the distraction. You’re the North Star I need to remind myself not to get distracted _from._ ”

“Oh.” Alec sounds hesitantly pleased about it. “Then…” his voice turns serious all of a sudden, “thanks for coming to me when you needed help.”

And that— well, Magnus isn’t very good at that. He hadn’t even fully realized that was what he was doing.

And he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t want to be needy, constantly asking for things as if that’s all their relationship is.

He steps back and out of Alec’s arms, forcing a smile. “I should let you get back to your work.” He feels calmer now, anyway, more level-headed. He doesn’t need to take up any more of Alec’s time.

Alec frowns. “Magnus—”

But Magnus just kisses him on the cheek and retreats to the apothecary to try to do some of his own work, knowing that Alec isn’t sure enough of them yet to follow.

*

It takes Magnus an embarrassingly long time to realize: Alec never asks.

For anything.

He’s always in the loft, because Magnus always wants him in the loft and asks him to stay. But while he’ll certainly initiate dates and other activities that he thinks Magnus will enjoy, and seems to want to be around him, he never _asks_ to stay the night, or for anything else that’s purely for himself.

The small, curled-up part of Magnus that’s perpetually hurt is whispering that Alec’s getting tired of dealing with him already. But Magnus shoves it down and lets the analytical, less-wimpy part of his brain take over.

He has to figure this out.

He’s pacing the living room floor, drink in hand, trying to formulate a plan for how to confront Alec about it when he hears rattling on his fire escape, and spins toward the balcony doors, magic alight at his fingertips. Slowly, Magnus creeps outside and over to the side of the balcony, looking over the wall at the fire escape.

At first he doesn’t see anything, and thinks it must have just been one of his stray cats clambering up the ladder. But then he looks closer, and watches as a hunched shadow shifts on one of the steps, hands coming briefly into the light of the window.

There’s blood on them.

Against his better judgement, Magnus climbs over the wall and down the fire escape until he can jump onto the landing.

Alec startles as he lands, clearly lost in his own thoughts.

“Magnus, I—” it sounds like the start of a needless apology, so Magnus takes his hands in his own, subtly scanning them for injury.

“Darling,” he interrupts, “don’t you know you can come inside? I gave you a key, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but—” Alec bites his lip. “I didn’t want to bring all of this—” he gestures to his bloody, ichor-covered form, and Magnus doesn’t know if he means the physical mess, the emotional mess, or just himself, more generally “—into your home.”

“It’s your home, too,” Magnus tells him firmly, even though it’s probably too early, really, to be saying such things. “I want you there, especially if you’re injured.”

“I’m not—” Alec starts, and stops to cough “—injured.”

Somehow Magnus doubts that.

But Alec’s showing no sign of moving, so Magnus sits down in front of him, making himself comfortable even though he’s probably getting rust all over his expensive pants.

“What happened?”

Alec’s still in shadow, so Magnus can only see the vague outline of his shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does, if it matters to you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Alec insists. “It’s just— same stuff as always.”

Magnus doesn’t know exactly what that means, but he doesn’t really need to. “You know you can always come to me for help,” he says, parroting Alec’s words from the other day.

“I don’t think there’s much to be done to help,” Alec says, hunching in on himself. He sounds so hopeless it makes Magnus want to burn something.

“Then…” Magnus tries to think. He leans forward to place a hand on Alec’s knee. “You know you can always ask me to comfort you.”

Alec looks up at him then, his face half in the light. Magnus is startled to see tears running down his cheeks. “I think…” he starts, tentative, “…that’s what I’m doing. Asking.”

Of course. Magnus has been looking in the wrong direction. How typical.

Alec _has_ been asking. Magnus just hasn’t been _listening._

He crawls forward across the dirty grating until he reaches Alec’s crumpled form and folds him into his arms.

Alec collapses into him, tucking his face into Magnus’s shoulder. He’s shaking, and Magnus curses himself for trying to get him to talk about it instead of just going to him immediately.

“Shh, darling, it’s alright,” he murmurs, petting his hair, “it’ll be alright.”

Alec doesn’t cry any more than the few tears Magnus had seen—he rarely cries as a general rule—but Magnus can feel the weight of it in him, the same tiredness and pressure that had once brought him to a bridge now bringing him to a different height. 

Alec wraps his arms around him and holds tight, his harsh breathing hot against Magnus’s skin, and Magnus squeezes him back like he can hold Alec together through the strength of his embrace alone. 

After a long moment, he asks, “Will you come inside with me? It’s rather chilly out.”

Alec nods, and Magnus maneuvers them both over the balcony wall and into the living room.

Once inside the light and safety of the loft, Magnus lays a hand on Alec’s cheek, trying to appraise him. “Oh, darling. You’re cold.”

Alec shrugs, but he’s shivering a little.

Magnus stares him down with a false stern expression. “Now. Tell me honestly. Are you injured?”

Smiling a little at the mock serious look, Alec presses a hand to his ribcage. “Just a little.”

“Come along, then.” Magnus takes his hand and all but drags him to the bathroom, where he sits Alec down on the edge of the tub. “Show me?”

Alec starts silently taking off his gear, looking uncertain about dropping the filthy garments on the floor until Magnus waves a hand and assures him he doesn’t care.

The wound he unveils is, indeed, minor, but that doesn’t help the roiling of Magnus’s stomach at the sight. He presses a hand to the gash like the very barrier of his body might prevent any more of Alec’s blood from spilling out onto his skin. “May I?”

Alec nods, and Magnus heals the wound in an overzealous flash of magic. He feels much better once Alec’s skin is again unbroken.

“Hey.” Alec takes a hold of Magnus’s wrist, which Magnus belatedly realizes is trembling in the circle of his fingers. “You’re shaking.”

“I don’t like seeing you injured,” Magnus explains.

“I’m not hurt anymore,” Alec says, “it’s okay.”

And then _Alec_ hugs _him_ , which is just not at all how this is supposed to be going.

“Hey,” Magnus protests into the side of his neck, “you’re supposed to be showering. You’re covered in muck.”

Alec releases him and looks mournfully at himself. He sighs. “Yeah. Those demons were a nightmare.”

He starts untying his boots, and Magnus slips toward the door to leave him to it.

“Will you—” Alec starts, and Magnus stops with his hand on the doorknob. “Will you stay?”

Magnus softens and makes his way back over to Alec, cupping his cheek in one hand. “Of course, darling.”

He lets Alec find his way into the shower before disrobing and following him in. Alec pulls him close and Magnus lets him rub shampoo into his hair, the gentle, repetitive action seeming to settle something in him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, thinking enough time might have passed for whatever wound it is to not be so raw, but Alec shakes his head.

“Just want to hold you,” he says, and Magnus is more than happy to give him that.

*

Magnus jolts awake from a nightmare, mind racing, reaching instinctively across the sheets—

But the other side of the bed is empty and cold, and he remembers: Alec was scheduled for a ridiculously early patrol, and elected to stay the night at the Institute. It's been getting rarer and rarer that he would do so, to the point that Magnus has been starting to forget that Alec doesn't technically _live_ in the loft.

This is one hell of a reminder.

Magnus pulls the blankets around himself, shivering. It’s getting colder and colder in the city, and sometimes that cold seeps through the brick despite Magnus’s best attempts to create charms to keep it out.

But that’s not why he’s shivering tonight.

He sucks in a breath and swipes at his eyes, belatedly realizing that tears are running down his cheeks.

The bedroom is cold, and dark, but Magnus is used to this. He’s used to waking up alone in the dark, and pacing himself back to sleep, or just waiting until the sun slips over the horizon and he can start his day as if nothing’s wrong.

But he doesn’t want to try to go back to sleep. He wants someone to hold him and press the shivers out of his body until he stills. He wants _Alec._

He doesn’t remember that it’s three in the morning until he’s already dialed the phone.

Panicked at the idea of waking Alec up and upsetting him—or worse, depriving him of sleep before a dangerous patrol—Magnus stabs at the screen to end the call—

—but Alec picks up before he can.

“Magnus?” His voice is soft and quiet, and it steadies Magnus’s nerves. He doesn’t really sound like he was asleep. “Is everything okay?”

“Did I wake you up?” Magnus asks in a hushed whisper.

“No,” Alec says. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Just had a bad feeling. You never answered my question.” It’s not accusatory, but concerned. “Are you okay?”

Alec shouldn’t have to spend his time worrying about Magnus, and Magnus considers telling him it doesn’t matter, to go back to sleep—not that Alec was sleeping in the first place. 

But his heart is still fluttering, his mind spinning, and he needs— just needs—

“No,” he admits, a pained almost-whine, and can practically hear Alec jump to his feet. “I’m not hurt!” he rushes to add.

A pause. “Not hurt, just hurting?” Alec guesses.

“Yeah,” Magnus whispers.

“I’m coming over.”

“Alec, it’s three a.m.”

“So?”

“ _So,_ you can’t go running around the streets at this hour!” Magnus exclaims, protesting Alec's devotion even though he's desperate to feel its light. He’s not made for this selflessness. He doesn’t think he can absorb it and survive. “What if you get mugged?”

There’s a long, exasperated pause. “Magnus, I’m a _Shadowhunter_. I’m not going to get _mugged_.”

Magnus refuses to acknowledge the validity of this point. “But—”

“Do you not want me there?” Alec asks, voice soft.

“Of course I do,” Magnus says, pained, “but—”

“Okay, then. I’m coming.”

Magnus clutches at his phone, and he’s not sure whether he’s trying to pull this lifeline to him or crush it. “Alexander, you don’t have to—”

“Of course I do. I’ll be there soon.” He sounds like he’s moving through the Institute halls, voice taking on an echoey quality under the vaulted stone ceilings.

“If you insist on coming, then I’m opening you a portal in front of the Institute,” Magnus says. Even if Alec is right about his Shadowhunter training protecting him from the Mundanes, there are more dangerous creatures than muggers on the New York City streets at night.

Alec steps through the portal into the bedroom and walks immediately over to the side of the bed, crouching down in front of where Magnus is still huddling in his blankets. The room seems instantly warmer for having him there.

“Hey,” he says, reaching up to swipe away one of Magnus’s tears with his thumb. “What’s going on? You had a nightmare?”

Magnus nods, feeling very small. He hates feeling that way, even with Alec.

“Okay,” Alec says, and then he’s toeing off his shoes to climb over Magnus and slide under the covers. “Come here.”

He makes it seem so _easy_ , like this is what people just _do_. “You have patrol in a couple of hours,” Magnus reminds him, heart fluttering. There’s no way he can just _have_ this. 

“So I’ll leave in a couple hours,” Alec replies evenly. “It’s long enough to help you fall asleep. Come here.”

Is it… _supposed_ to be this easy?

Hesitantly, Magnus shuffles over to him and folds himself into his arms. Alec pulls him close, fingers tangling in his hair, and Magnus sighs shakily against his throat. Alec still smells like night air from his brief jaunt outside, but his body is warm, and Magnus burrows into him, chasing the shivers away from his limbs.

“Try to sleep,” Alec murmurs. “You get so little sleep as it is.”

Magnus’s mind still kind of wants to shake itself apart, but he holds tight to Alec’s steady form, listening to his even breathing and trying to take it into himself. He falls asleep to the rise and fall of Alec’s chest and the sound of him humming—rather off-key, if he’s being quite honest—the song they’d danced to the other day. And he wonders if he’ll have to pay in a next life for the bliss he’s found in this one.

Wonders if, perhaps, he’s already paid.

When he wakes again, the sun has long since risen, and Alec is gone, but he’s tucked the blankets in around Magnus’s shoulders.

Magnus slips out from under them and makes his tired, stumbling way into the kitchen, where he puts on the coffee and basks in the watery light cascading in through the window.

By the time it’s done brewing, he’s completed his morning routine and is just sitting down with a mug when the front door opens.

It must be later than he’d thought, if Alec is already back.

Alec steps into the kitchen. He looks gratifyingly unharmed from the patrol, if a little tired, and he smiles as he takes in Magnus sitting at the island. The grey light of the overcast sky catches in his hair.

“Good morning,” he says as he leans in to press a quick kiss to Magnus’s lips. “Sleep alright?”

It’s so quiet this morning. Quiet enough that Magnus can hear every shifting beam in his apartment building, the relentless settling of stacked dishes; quiet enough that it seems even the dust and sunlight make sound.

But it’s a quiet that he wants to hum and settle into, not drown out with clashing tumultuous noise. A quiet that his head has learned to adopt, at least for today.

He takes Alec’s hand and plays with his fingers. The kiss he presses to his palm is answer enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> for the sake of this series' naming conventions, let's all just pretend that 'cloud' (as in cloud grey) counts as a color 
> 
> the song I imagine them dancing to is [Deeper by Elles Bailey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ymJJvAgdrys)
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](https://cuubism.tumblr.com/) ⭐


End file.
